cry me a river
by milk ghost
Summary: Say my name, call me 'baby.' Some things are better left unsaid.—edo!gray/juvia/bora


**notes:** okay so...i know i'm like a particularly elusive pokemon or something of that sort these days, but. i'm back? kind of? **  
** **dedication:** for momo cicerone because it was her birthday like two days ago.also i promised her this like three months ago, soooo.HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEYSI. so glad i actually kind of had ideas for this? ish? i saw your post on tumblr and i was like, "okay time to put this kayak into maXIMUM OVERDRIVE." but i have little to no upper body strength. so uh. the struggle. ps. it's a kayak because this ship is very, very teensy tiny. how. **  
****disclaimer:** hecka nah

 _x_

{ _you told me you loved me, now why did you leave me all alone?_ }

 _xoxo_

 _ **say my name then cry me a river...**_

 ** _x_**

She falls in love like the batting of eyelashes against snow-kissed cheeks. Delicate and unsure, all at once but maybe not at all. The feelings come fleetingly, but linger just enough to make her wonder—just enough to make her want more. It's beautiful but nothing at the same time, because those frozen kisses from heaven always melt into freezing tears that leave angry red tracks down bitten cheeks.

There's a long line of boys just aching to be her first, to be the one who holds her in his arms and leave marks on her neck, bruises on her lips. It's like waiting in line for a broken rollercoaster at an amusement park. She shows just enough—dark red lips pulled back into a sinful but bashful smile, pale shoulders, hurricane eyes, and a mean sway—and the advertisement brings them running. But. There's an invisible sign somewhere there that says 'Closed Until Further Notice.' A flash of that smile, a flutter of lashes, and she hooks them all just enough to keep them there.

She'll be giving all the bruises, thanks.

She's undefeatable, a champion of the game. She has the world title, holds all the best cards. And it's fun—yes, life's a game—until _he_ saunters into her life and ruins absolutely everything.

Juvia falls in love _just enough._

 _x_

"You like him."

Juvia sends Lucy an incredulous glare over her full house and bites down on her cigarette. "Shut the fuck up. I do _not_."

Her stupid blonde best friend tosses her head and squints in suspicious hatred at the girl sitting across from her. It's Girl's Poker Night, which happens every week despite the absurd amounts of homework they're assigned, and everyone is in their usual seats. Levy returns the look with double the spite as Lucy carefully and deliberately rearranges her cars. The other three girls watch as the blonde slowly slips each card out of place and into a new one.

Erza finishes painting a perfectly manicured nail a shade of red so dark, it doesn't even look red anymore She puffs out some air and admires her work. "Who?"

Levy makes a vomiting noise and takes a swig of her flat Pepsi. "That new guy. Y'know, Bora or whatever the hell his name is. You've probably noticed him. Or maybe not, considering the fact that he's always surrounded by his dumbass girl posse of admirers."

"Ex-fucking-actly," Juvia slams her palms down on the table. The bottle of not-really-red nail polish and the flat Pepsi can rattle. "Exhibit A of why I do not like Michael. He's a womanizer."

Lucy is still plucking out cards and replacing them. "You call him by his real name."

"He's a slimeball."

"I saw you actually smile at him in the hall on Wednesday."

Juvia narrows her eyes. "He's a bad boy. I don't do bad boys."

Levy taps her fingertips on the table to the nonexistent tune of some heavy metal song. "Oh honey, you don't have to do him at all. Doesn't mean that you don't _feel_ somethin' for him."

"See what you've done now? You've brought the fucking editorial team from _Seventeen Magazine_ down on my ass about this. This is not Mean Girls or some chick-flick shit. We don't bring personal affairs to Poker Night. I get enough of that nonsense during the rest of the week."

Erza smiles, something sharp and cutting and dangerous in all the right ways. "We _are_ the mean girls."

Juvia flushes and avoids eye contact with everyone. She zeroes in on Lucy, who is finally finished choosing her hand. "Yeah well, this retard over here likes _Natsu_."

"This is not new stuff you've brought to the table. So what if I like Natsu? So what if I love Natsu? Maybe I do. It's not like he's ever gonna know because that is a secret I will die with." Lucy raises her eyes from her cards and slowly sweeps her chilling gaze over all of them. "And you will too, if you so much as speak a word of what I've said to anyone."

Even Levy's grip on her can crushes the metal a little at the sheer amount of venom in her tone and acid leaking out of her gaze.

Lucy lays down a royal flush and Juvia suddenly remembers why she never plays poker with the blonde. She's just too damn _good._ "You _do_ like Michael. You know it."

She doesn't really feel like playing poker anymore.

 _x_

Gray gives her a sideways glance as they wait outside the diner for their friends to actually show _up_ for once in their lives. Just one instance of them being on time, that's all she asks. "Those things will kill you, you know? They'll steal your breath away, right out of your lungs. You won't even see it coming."

She takes a long drag of her cig and pulls back, flicking the ashes in his direction. "I don't need your preaching to me about cancer, Surge. God." Juvia looks at him—all of him, his three layers in just mildly chilly weather—and rolls her eyes. "You look like you're headed on an Artic expedition. Do you even _sweat_?"

"I just care," _—about you._ He chooses to ignore her last words, and she does the same for his unspoken ones.

Juvia drops her cigarette and rubs it out with the toe of her sneaker as he leans back against the brick building. "I heard Bora asked you out on a date."

 _And you accepted._

She huffs, shoving her hands in the pockets of her old letterman and looks up at the sky—looks away from his hurt and worried eyes. "Yeah," she replies gruffly. "What of it? You gonna try to warn me? ' _Oh Juvia, don't you know he'll only break your heart_?' Well, save it. Shove it where the sun don't shine. I've heard it all before. Maybe I just don't care. What would you say then, huh Surge?"

Gray tucks part of his face away into his coat and lowers his eyes. An arrow, laced with arsenic and cyanide, right to the heart. "…nothing. I just wanted to wish you a good time. I hope he takes you somewhere nice. Like the art museum or that café you like."

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. What she doesn't say is, _I hope he does too._ "Oh. Well…then thanks. You should get yourself a girlfriend, Gray. You're pretty sweet and thoughtful, ya know? I bet you'd make a girl real happy."

He swallows like he's just ingested a bunch of nails and sets his jaw, focusing on the ragtag group they call their friends. So they've finally decided to show their shitty faces. "Yeah," he doesn't sound like himself. "Maybe I should."

Michael does not, in fact, take her to either of the places that Gray mentioned. Instead he takes her out for a nice dinner, and then a walk along the canals. It's…nice. Definitely not something she's used to, or even something expected. She feels different around him—a little giddy, like she'll make a fool out of herself at any minute if she doesn't keep herself under control. But it's hard, oh so hard. His hand is at the dip of her back and bravely edging downward.

She kisses him lightly, feather soft and it leaves little tingles down her spine. Good Lord, maybe she is in love because when she opens her eyes and looks into _his_ , her chest is aflutter with some foreign kind of emotion she can't even begin to explain.

"So," Bora-Michael-The Possible Love of Her Life says, "want to go out again next week?"

Does she _ever._

 _x_

And so it goes. They go on dates, they kiss and other things—things that leave her redder than Erza's nail polish that's chipping away, curls her toes, and leaves her wanting more, more, _more._ She dances around her kitchen and finally knows how all those girls in every ooey-gooey girly movie she's ever watched with Lucy feel. She used to make fun on them, she used to say they were fucking _ridiculous_ , but now.

Now she knows the difference between being ridiculous and really, truly in love.

It's not long before Michael's slowly slipping that world title from her, slowly but surely stealing all the best cards. Soon he's leaving the bruises, the marks on her neck and other places no one else can see. It goes on for a month, then two, then three before the dam finally breaks.

" _I think I might fucking love you_ ," she whispers to him one night, curled into his side between the messy sheets.

His lips curl up into a lazy smirk, something she's seen often. " _I think I might be okay with that_."

God, she loves him.

Next Tuesday she sees him kissing a sophomore girl under a street lamp, fingers inching dangerously close to the hem of her shirt.

 _Oh,_ she thinks.

So this is also what all those girls-desperately-in-love feel when they find out their boyfriends are cheating on them, too. Funny.

She snarls, _I hope you rot in hell_ , and maybe but also not maybe throws one of her father's bottles of Jack at his head. It misses, of course, because life sucks and the world hates her fucking guts and there is absolutely no justice for stupidly foolish little girls in love. Juvia burns everything of his that she can get her hands on and warms her hands over the tiny bonfire. Lucy is there too, to help her throw gasoline on the blaze. And since Natsu follows Lucy around like a lost duckling and is best friends with a certain overdresser, that means Gray is with her too.

"Don't say it," Juvia hushes, quietly, as they watch the flames reach higher and higher into the sky.

Lucy turns to look at her. "Say what?"

"' _I told you so_.'"

The blonde huffs and crosses her arms, kicking the empty gas can at her feet. "Actually, I was gonna ask if this was legal and/or safe, but."

It's quiet for a few moments, nothing but the sounds of a crackling fire and the crickets in the distance.

"We could just…get rid of him. I know a couple guys," Lucy comments, almost nonchalantly. But on the inside she's furious, because her best friend in the world—aside from the pink-headed idiot next to her—got hurt, and she couldn't stop it. Maybe even encouraged it to happen a little.

Juvia almost laughs in return. "That is _definitely_ a fucking felony, Ashley."

She wishes the heat of the fire would just dry the tears off her face.

 _x_

She locks herself away for a couple days, with her dad's alcohol stash and a bunch of cheesy chick flicks. _God,_ she's become something she doesn't even recognize. Her father isn't home and she just calls into school sick. Consecutively. For four days. A very, very bad case of the flu that she _wouldn't want to spread to anybody else._ In reality, she's just tired and miserable and hurting.

Love. _L-o-v-e._ Who fucking _needs_ it?

It's day five when someone new knocks on her door. She forces herself to drag her body from the couch and over to the door. Of course. Of fucking course.

She flings the door open and scowls. "What the hell do you want?"

Gray Surge looks tired. There are bags under the eyes, the likes of which she's never seen, and his mouth is curved down at such a sharp angle, she doesn't even think it's possible. "Juvia," he greets, voice lifeless. And that's it.

She expected more. It throws her off a little. "Gray…" she glances down for a second, just at the pile of papers on the porch that she hasn't bothered to pick up every morning. But she catches a glimpse of something crimson and flowing, too.

"What the—" Juvia snatches his wrist and brings it up to her eye level. His knuckles are busted, fingers smudged with blood, both dried and fresh. " _S-Surge_?"

His fingers are already turning black and blue. "Sorry I bled on your porch."

"You— _what_ ," she splutters, leading him inside. "I stay home for _five days_ and you _resort to violence_? Did you think you had to punch someone to get me to open the door for you? What the hell were you thinking? Gray. Gray Surge. _Socking somebody._ God."

He laughs, but it's odd, humorless. "You should see the other guy."

She pulls out some probably useless peroxide from the medicine cabinet and gathers some gauze. "Sit down, you reckless bastard. Reckless. I never thought I'd ever use _that_ word to describe you. So, who'd you hit and why?"

Juvia tries to sound like a mom, and maybe a dad, all at once. He doesn't have any—parents, that is—but he knows the tone of voice. Also, she's curious as to what could drive the compassionate and ridiculously-against-violence-of-any-kind Gray Surge to giving someone a right hook.

Gray stares at her.

She stops cleaning his wounds and feels her chest seize up. Oh. _Oh._

He'd punched Bora. Michael. Whatever.

" _What_ —" she stands up suddenly, knocking over the brown bottle of peroxide and pulling away from him. " _What did you think you were_ doing _?"_

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I just saw his face and—"

Juvia wraps his hand and secures it, then roughly pushes it back into his chest. "You had no right— _no fucking right_ —"

"I know. I _know._ I'm sorry. I came to say I'm sorry."

And _she_ was the mess?

She points to the door. "Get out. Get out of my house right now. I don't need someone to take care of my problems for me. I'm not some damn fairy tale princess who needs her honor defended. Just leave me alone."

He does. He gets up and walks right out her front door like she'd commanded of him. She slams it shut behind him and presses her back to the wood, sliding down it until she hits the floor. Her head knocks back against it and she closes her eyes, chest heaving.

"I wish," she says quietly, all breathless like she's just seen a cloudless night sky, like a desperate and desperately thankful prayer, like a sinner in confession, "I wish I would've fallen in love with you instead. First."

Juvia doesn't know he has his forehead pressed to the otherside of her front door, eyes closed. She doesn't hear him say _me too_.

 _x_

{ _now there's just no chance for you and me, and there'll never be, and don't it make you sad?_ }

 **end notes:** haha so yeah this is kind of like a companion piece to _well you cured my january blues_? i guess? i'm so sorry. it's rushed and unedited and super duper messy. i'm the one who's going to cry a river. forgive me for slaughtering your favorite pairing please.


End file.
